The wind blew, flowers fell, and a bleak night rain drifted down.
Petals swirled through the garden like snow, while several orioles huddled on the branches, letting out soft chirps from time to time.
As though mourning Xue Yijian's death, the rain-soaked night felt especially desolate, as if even the birds were sighing.
Of all people to provoke, he had chosen to provoke the young lord of Sunset City.
Even a fallen young lord was still a restrained god of slaughter...
The living had always been the ones to laugh—who had ever seen the dead cry?
The wind after the rain carried the lingering fragrance of fallen flowers. The moon slowly rose from behind the clouds, its cold light spilling over the bluestone paths in the garden and casting them in silvery white.
The scent of blood had faded, but the flower hall presented an entirely different scene.
Wen Yinger sat before the table, her crescent-moon eyes curved into two lovely arcs.
When the girl smiled, it was as though a faint mist lingered in her eyes, hazy and indistinct, impossible to see through clearly.
Yan Hui was astonished.
Strangely, at this moment, his heart held nothing but joy, just like the girl before him.
As if Xue Yijian's death had been no more than a trivial matter, as if that sword strike had merely slain an assassin who deserved to die.
In Wang Xian's words: "Assassins deserve to die!"
He could not even see a trace of sorrow on Wen Yinger's face.
The girl's eyes were crystal clear, brimming with laughter, as though she had never seen blood, never killed anyone, and had never nearly died while blocking a sword for him.
This truly took Yan Hui by surprise.
Wen Yinger picked up a slice of braised beef with